


Of Scars and Guilt

by mechanicaljewel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: slashfest, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-11
Updated: 2005-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape needs protection from the Ministry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Scars and Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for slashfest, for chasingtides's prompt: After Voldemort dies, Snape is out of a job at Hogwarts. Harry - with newfound wealth/political power/whatever - seduces him.
> 
> Unintentional Spider-Man reference. Really my first fic with anything like a plot—hope it works. Encouragement from jeannedehylton. Betaed by eyesofadiamond.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not Mine. Rowling’s.

Severus Snape was on the run. Of course he was; he had every reason to be. Lord Voldemort had fallen, for good, only three nights ago. Now the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix were rooting out all the Death Eaters they could find. This time he had no Dumbledore to vouch for his loyalty. Of course, that was because Snape had killed him. That, as far as anyone was concerned, discounted any possible claims of loyalty.  
  
Only—Snape wasn’t so sure. He knew he had killed Dumbledore. He could still feel the Avada Kadavra pushed from his throat, and smell the neon green Death shooting from his wand. But he had done it on Dumbledore’s orders.  
  
Hadn’t he?  
  
He didn’t know. His memory was sundered in a flood of doubt and Legilimency. And if he wasn’t such a powerful Occlumens, he’d know for sure what was going on. He chuckled mirthlessly at the irony. He became an Occlumens to better control his mind, and because of it, he could no longer be sure that he did. If he hadn’t been in the Order, he wouldn’t have needed to learn Occlumency, and then he would know that he had done it of his own volition.  
  
That was the charm and curse of power: responsibility. Culpability.  
  
But he could not dwell on that right now, he kept reminding himself. He needed to keep his wits about him while he searched for a safe haven. Otherwise he’d be caught; or worse—turn himself in.  
  
Or worst of all, end up at 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
As he looked at the creaky old house, he wished that he was holding a brick with which he could hit himself in the head.  
  
Why had he thought that skulking around London incognito would be a good idea? He had figured that the Ministry would search the countryside, in dense forests and such, that no Death Eater would be stupid enough to hang around Knockturn Alley or their own houses. None would be foolish enough to go anywhere near London. Both the Ministry and the Death Eaters would be very proud of themselves for being so clever by staying in the country.  
  
The only person who would have suggested a sweep of London would have been Dumbledore.  
  
Snape cursed his own cleverness. His guilt had interfered with his cunning plan and led him right to the house of the Boy Who Lived. He was surprised he could even see it. He was sure the Order would have put a new Fidelus on it, since Dumbledore’s death ended the original charm. But there it was.  
  
Though, now that he thought about it, the Order hadn’t used it since the Department of Mysteries affair. And though he knew Harry had inherited it, the boy had probably never set foot in it. He was most likely recuperating at the Weasley’s. There was no reason to hide an empty house, but there was every reason to hide  _in_  an empty house.  
  
Snape walked up to the front door. After testing the handle and discovering that it was indeed locked, he tried his luck with a simple nonverbal Alohomora.  
  
It worked. Snape was beginning to feel slightly unnerved. It shouldn’t be this easy to break into a wizard’s house, especially not the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Purebloods showed off by their cunning at keeping other people out.  
  
Snape soothed the worries by reminding himself that Sirius and the Order had spent an enormous amount of time purging the house of its heritage. And now that the line was broken, it made sense that the old family magic would be wearing off.  
  
He stepped in, silently closing the door, not wanting to wake up Sirius’s mother, who, if the soft snoring sounds were to be believed, was currently sleeping behind her thick curtain. He made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find some food, having lived mostly on wild fruits and what ever small animals were unfortunate enough to cross his path for the past few days.  
  
He opened the door to find Harry Potter sitting at the table with a steaming mug of tea. He looked battle worn, and only mildly surprised that Snape had just walked in.  
  
“Oh, hello Professor, would you like some tea?”  
  
Snape may well have met the gaze of a Basilisk. Harry continued to look at him, expecting an answer. Snape found his breath, and his tongue tripped over the words as they came out.   
  
“Y-you…but…I-I—Professor?”  
  
“Well, no, I don’t suppose you are a professor anymore. What with killing your boss and all,” Harry said in a subdued tone. “Force of habit, I guess, calling you ‘Professor’ to you face and ‘Snape’ behind your back. Guess I’ll just stick with ‘Snape’ now.”  
  
Snape was floored. Harry sounded almost blasé. “Are you going to kill me?”  
  
There was a pause before Harry answered, “No. I guess not. Though I’d like to.” Harry gazed off into the distance. After a long silence, he continued in an empty voice, “I’ve seen enough death for one lifetime, caused enough death. Don’t know how you Death Eaters could do it so often.” He turned his dead eyes to Snape. Snape wasn’t sure if he was asking for an explanation. But then Harry said, “So, tea? ‘S fresh.”  
  
“Er, yes. Thank you,” Snape replied.  
  
Snape was sure he heard a slight sigh when Harry stood up. There was a definite sigh as he busied himself with the kettle, pouring the milk into the mug, then adding the tea.  
  
“Sugar?” he asked.  
  
“None, thank you.” Snape replied.  
  
Harry set it at the table across from his place. He gestured vaguely for Snape to sit down, which he did. Harry resumed his seat, and for a while, there was silence. Harry kept staring at Snape. In response, Snape kept his eyes focus on his tea, offering Harry a fantastic view of the top of his head.  
  
“So I guess you’re not going to turn me in,” Snape said finally, still not looking up.  
  
“Maybe,” Harry replied. Snape looked, meeting Harry’s gaze. Noting Snape’s surprise, Harry continued, “I guess I’m curious.”  
  
“Curious?”  
  
“About your motives. Over the past year I’ve done a lot of contemplating about Voldemort’s purpose, and the Death Eaters’ motives. Voldemort’s purpose I’ve known from the beginning: immortality. He gained followers primarily through a cause he took up while in school, his dear ancestor Slytherin’s legacy. But you didn’t fit that. You’re proud of your Muggle blood, if only in private.”  
  
Snape grated at the (admittedly true) astute observation. “Potter, if you think I’m going to pour out my soul in order to feed your perverse curiosity, I’d advise you to think again.”  
  
Harry glowered at him. “I could force my way into your mind and find out.”  
  
Snape sneered. “Potter, I am an accomplished Occlumens,” he spat, momentarily forgetting his earlier doubts. “I could write an entire series of novels on your thoughts and memories and become a millionaire before you found out my favorite color.”  
  
“You don’t know what I’m capable of, Snape. Who knows what powers I picked up from Voldemort this time around? Who knows what I learned from him?” Harry stared Snape down. Did Harry know the truth about Snape and Dumbledore?  
  
Snape backed down. “Fine,” he said. “Got carried away there.”  
  
“That’s hardly an apology,” Harry snapped. “But I’ll take it.”  
  
After another stony silence, Snape said tentatively, “So…what are you going to do about me?”  
  
Harry sighed. “I don’t know. What do you want from me?”  
  
Surprised, Snape said the first thing to come that came to his head. “If you could get me a Ministry pardon, that would be most agreeable.”  
  
Harry stared into his tea. “I doubt that I could get you one.”  
  
Snape goggled. “What? You’re Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived? Defeated the Dark Lord, twice!”  
  
“And that’s all I’ve ever been! To anyone! The Boy Who Lived! Our Savior! The Chosen One! The one who will defeat  _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ ,” he mocked. “And now I have, and everyone who’s not dead is in the hospital, or they’re celebrating, or picking off Death Eaters. And I can’t bring myself to do either because I just keep thinking, what am I going to mean to them now? What purpose do they have for me? I’ve been put on some kind of weird god-level, and all that’s done is isolate me! The worst part of it is, that’s all I’ve been thinking about! Not about all the people, my friends, that have died, not about how wonderful it is that everyone can sleep at night. I’ve thrown out all my surviving friends in order to sit here brooding on how my life has no meaning or purpose anymore!”  
  
“Well guess what, Potter? Most people  _don’t_  have a purpose! A lot of people spend a lot of time doing stupid things trying to find it!” Snape snapped. The boy deserved it this time.  
  
“Well, then maybe I should go tell the rest of the world to stop, because life never seems more bloody pointless than when after you’ve reached the point.” Harry paused, then said quietly, “I never asked for a bloody purpose.” Again he sighed. “You can stay here. I’ll hide you and everything. They won’t think to look for any Death Eaters here. And even if they do, who knows, maybe my damn Messiah charms still work.”  
  
Snape was strongly reminded of Dumbledore in that moment. His pride screamed out at the prospect of accepting hospitality from Harry Potter, but his rationality fortunately beat his pride into submission. “Thank you, Pot—Harry.”  
  
“Oh please, there’s no reason to start on a first name basis. Don’t pretend you don’t still hate me, because I still hate you. I just don’t care that much anymore.”  
  
Snape breathed a small sigh of relief. At least they were being honest. “You’re not worried that I might try to kill you in your sleep?”  
  
“No, not really,” Harry replied matter-of-factly. “One, I’m not sure if I care if you do. Two, I haven’t been sleeping without potions for the past three days, so if I do get concerned, I’ll just stop taking them. The Half-Blood Prince wrote a recipe for another one that makes it feel like you got a good ten hours. Just in case.”  
  
Snape looked away. “You still have his book then?”  
  
Harry looked directly at Snape. “Yeah. It came in handy over the past year.”  
  
Snape met Harry’s gaze, incredulous. “Really?”  
  
Harry nodded. “Don’t think I would have made it without him.” A pause, then, “I’ll show you to your room.”  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
For the greater part of the next week, Harry and Snape avoided one another, and most of their interaction was limited to Harry warning Snape when his friends and Order members were coming over. Snape only ever had to just stay in his room, but Harry had given him a pouch that could stretch to fit anything and would then shrink to pocket-sized that theoretically he could hide in. Snape was thankful he never had to find out. He was sure that Potter’s entourage thought it odd that he was letting no one spend the night, as one day he woke to find that Harry had hired Dobby, who constantly fussed over him in a manner reminiscent of Molly Weasley. Dobby swore that he would not tell anyone Snape was there.  
  
“Dobby would do anything in the world for Harry Potter!” he had squeaked to Snape one day. “It is no burden at all to keep his secrets!”  
  
“Thank you for that,” Snape sneered. “Now kindly do your best to stay away from me.” He did not trust house-elves. There was something wrong with those who would give unswerving obedience to another.  
  
One day, about three weeks later, Harry asked Snape if he would like to come down for tea. Nothing unusual; he had offered before, out of politeness, Snape guessed. This time, for whatever reason, Snape said yes.  
  
Harry shooed Dobby from the kitchen and prepared the tea. They sat together at one corner of the massive kitchen table. They weren’t completely silent, but there was no idle chatter either. Occasionally, Harry would mention a Death Eater they had caught, and Snape would tell him where to find their skeletons. Then there would be silence. Finally Snape asked, “Are they still looking for me?” He knew it was a stupid question, but he did not expect the nature of Harry’s response. Harry simply looked him in the eye, blankly, steadily. And then he quite casually leaned forward and started kissing Snape. Not just kissing, either; burying his fingers into Snape’s hair, while another hand moved to rest on his waist. And he was kissing with intention. Snape quickly pulled back. “Potter, what the hell are you doing?”  
  
“Trying to seduce you. Although, I guess I’m not all that good. I lived in constant fear of dying a virgin. While I’m still alive, I thought I’d take care of that.”  
  
“Your glibness, I’m sure, is lauded in most circles of our society. I, however, do not appreciate it and would like a straight answer.”  
  
“There’s not much straight about it, is there? I  _am_  trying to seduce you.”  
  
“And why is that, pray tell?”  
  
“Belated mad life-affirming sex? Trying to destroy evil makes my hormones go crazy.”  
  
“Being seventeen makes your hormones go crazy.”  
  
“Yeah, on top of that…” Snape was glaring at him, so he dropped the walls. “Because I’ve been feeling like nothing since I killed Voldemort. No purpose, no family, no one who can see me as anyone other than The Boy Who Lived. Except you. You’re the only one who ever saw me for what I was: a scared little boy who broke the rules and messed with things too big for him. I figured you’re the only person in the world who wouldn’t just let me do it because I’m Harry Potter.”  
  
“And this is the only reason you let me stay?” Snape demanded, slowly seething.  
  
“Not really. I’ve just been toying with the idea since you got here.”  
  
“Toying with—? And what? You’ll turn me in if I don’t?” Harry started to protest. “I don’t want to hear it, Potter.” He grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, pulled Harry’s face to his, and snarled, “I don’t like being toyed with.” And he brought their mouths crashing together.  
  
After a moment of being startled, Harry eased in, letting himself go with the irregular rhythms of Snape’s oral assault. Snape felt some smug satisfaction at first, only to have it replaced by the horrible realization that he was giving in to Harry Potter, boy wonder, and son of his school enemy. Son of the two most beautiful people at Hogwarts, both of whom he had cast more than a few longing glances at, when he wasn’t loathing them. Them and their friends, and their self-assuredness, and they way James taunted him, and the way Lily both defended and reviled him….Well he was going to have their son in a way he could never have them.   
  
Harry interrupted his thoughts by sliding off his chair and kneeling on the floor next to Snape, their lips never parting. Snape loosened his grip on Harry’s shirt, leaving his hand on Harry’s chest, while snaking his other arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry reached up and cupped Snape’s cheeks before plunging his fingers into his hair and gripping the back of his head, moving his fingers in slow circles. Both of their trousers were becoming quite tented.  
  
They were no longer Harry Potter and Severus Snape. They were just two men, one who had stopped caring about life, one who was prevented from his own life, and they both wanted the same thing.  
  
Harry moved one hand towards his own hardness, but Snape caught it on the way down and moved it to his own. Harry caressed him as their feverish kissing grew deeper, as they took the time to taste each other. Harry tasted of tea and salt; he had probably been crying, Snape thought, but did not let the thought linger. Harry pulled away from Snape’s lips and began trailing up his jaw and down his neck. Snape’s spine prickled, and he tilted his head down, breathing deep the musky smell of Harry’s dark hair. But then Snape felt the light suction on his neck falter; Harry was trying to one-handedly open Snape’s trousers, and his growing erection only complicated matters. Snape pulled his neck away from Harry.  
  
“For God’s sake, Potter, stop trying to seduce me and fuck me!”  
  
Harry looked slightly confused for a moment, but then he understood and focused his full attention on Snape’s trousers. As he pulled out Snape’s cock, Snape grunted at his warm grip. Harry stroked as only an seventeen-year-old virgin can: with desperate, nimble fingers. He circled the tip with the pad of his thumb. Snape hissed through his teeth, gritted in concentration at the magnificent attentions being paid to his cock. Harry slid his hand down the shaft, and with no warning, took the head into his mouth.  
  
Snape shuddered. The boy was nervous, he could tell, seeming unsure about what to do beyond lapping the tip, just  _there_. Snape moved a shaking hand to Harry’s head, holding it in place as he very gently pushed his hips upward. Harry hesitated slightly before accepting Snape’s length as far down as he could. As soon as his throat adjusted, Harry began sucking. The pressure moved up and down the shaft and ended in a constant suction on the tip, drawing more blood down. Snape threw his head back as warmth spread through his abdomen, careful not to lose control; he did not want this to end too quickly. Encouraged and challenged by Snape’s response, Harry tentatively pulled back, running his tongue along the vein on the underside of the shaft, and then plunged back down. Snape’s other hand joined the first on top of Harry’s head, not pushing it, but guiding it, utter gripped by the sight of that black head bobbing up and down in his lap. When he started leaking, he pulled Harry away.  
  
“Stand up and face the table, in front of me.”  
  
Harry’s eyes blazed and he obliged. As he moved, Snape stood and discarded his robes and finished removing his trousers, leaving him only in a snug black shirt. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, and then pulled off the tee-shirt the boy was wearing and ran his hand over Harry’s lithe, toned chest.  
  
“Honestly, you young people and your affinity for Muggle dress…” Snape drawled in his ear as he divested Harry of his jeans. Harry was unable to respond to the taunting; he was too busy responding to Snape’s cupping of his erection, arching back far enough to lay his head on Snape’s shoulder. Snape firmly pushed him off and bent him over the table. He grabbed the nearest wand, not even noticing if it was his or Harry’s, and nonverbally conjured some lubricant. He massaged it around Harry’s opening, slowly pressing inside. Harry squirmed as he felt two of Snape’s fingers inside of him, his breathing becoming labored.  
  
Feeling the boy was adequately prepared, Snape withdrew his fingers, rubbed a little more lube on his own length, and positioned his cock at Harry’s entrance.  
  
“Relax, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”  
  
Harry nodded and willed his muscles slack as Snape pushed in. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the slight sting. He hissed out as soon as Snape paused, once he was completely inside of him.  
  
“I’m not going to stop again, so you had better get yourself ready for the rest.” Harry swallowed and nodded. He exhaled, and when Snape felt the muscles encircling him relax more, he pulled nearly all the way out, just before the head, then slid back in. Harry pressed into the thrust and shuddered as Snape hit the sensitive gland inside him. Snape smirked to himself. Finally, Potter was obeying him. He set to thrusting, slowly at first, reveling in Harry’s voiced sighs. And he was not lying when he said he was a virgin. It had been a while for Snape, with a partner of either sex, so to be rewarded with the slick, tight warmth of an inexperienced youth…  
  
He began thrusting more vigorously, going all the way to the hilt, pressing his pelvis firmly against Harry’s ass, holding the Boy-Who-Lived’s hips, keeping him at that perfect angle, where Snape could go deepest and hit Harry’s spot each time. He started panting, his breath coming in rhythm with his hips. Harry tightened around him, and begged, “Oh, God…please…” It wouldn’t be long now, for either of them. He reached around in front of Harry and found that his cock was so swollen, he would not have been surprised if Harry had popped a few blood vessels. Harry’s cock twitched as Snape grasped, determined to finish him off.  
  
It didn’t take long. Only three strokes and Harry came violently, all over Snape’s hand and the floor. His body shook, hardly noticing Snape’s final rocking thrusts before he spent inside. Harry rested his sweaty forehead against the table, warm from his breath. Snape slumped forward for a moment, hands next to Harry’s waist on the table, propping himself up. After he recovered, he pulled out, eliciting a sigh from Harry, and he sat back down on the bench. Harry joined him soon after, pressing up against him, shoulder-to-shoulder, uncertain about how much contact to make. Finally Snape spoke.  
  
“It’s customary to shower, post-coitus,” he informed Harry, very pedantically, as if it was just another Potions lesson. Harry’s cock jumped slightly at the maybe-suggestion. Snape shook his head mentally at the sex drives of recently deflowered virgins. “ _Alone_ ,” he added, and shifted slightly away from Harry and drew his hands closer to his abdomen, as he noticed the boy was staring a hole into his lap. “Enjoying the view?”  
  
“What? Oh, no, Prof—” He caught himself and continued. “Your Dark Mark is gone…” he pointed at Snape’s forearm.  
  
Snape looked at the Mark’s former site. He had known it was gone, he had just forgotten about it. “Yes, now that the spell’s originator is dead…”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I know.” He pointed to his forehead. “Gone. Along with my Parseltongue.”   
  
Snape looked at him. “Really? And your claims of Legilimency?”  
  
“Complete bollocks. Just trying to scare you.”  
  
Snape snorted, “Trying to scare me? You could legitimately threaten me with the Dementor’s kiss, but you opt for empty threats of finding out my tortured half-blood, Death Eater thoughts? I’m going to guess you didn’t defeat the Dark Lord with sheer cunning.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Well, actually…since we’re all exposed and vulnerable here…and since I just discovered the real purpose of life, or at least a damn good reason to go on living, I think I should tell you…You’re a free man.”  
  
Snape was completely baffled. “What are you talking about, Potter?”  
  
Harry began wringing his hands. “In Dumbledore’s office, after… Well, we found some papers…there was an affidavit, that he wrote, er…absolving you of all crimes. Said you operating under his orders. Like he was expecting it. I would like to add,” he said quickly, under the aura of rage emanating off Snape, “that that does not include if you kill me now. And Hermione invented this DNA spell thing, so you can’t just run off an—”  
  
Snape reached for a wand and shouted, “ _Scourgify!_ ” clearing all traces of their recent relations. Harry swallowed hard.  
  
“Why, Potter?” he growled, pointing his wand at Harry’s throat. “Why didn’t you say anything when I got here?”  
  
Harry took a deep breath, his eyes very wide. “I suppose I just…didn’t care. Wanted to punish you a bit. ‘Cos you did still kill him, no matter what he said. And I’m not sure I believe him either. It seems like something he’d do, wanting to give you a new chance at life or something.”  
  
Snape slowly lowered the wand and sighed. “Yes, it does.” He stood up and began dressing. “I’m leaving. And for future reference, there are some brothels down Knockturn Alley, next time you’re trying to destroy evil and get hot and bothered,” he spat, buttoning up his robes.  
  
“Right.” Harry hung his head in shame, and Snape turned to walk out. “Do you think we’ll see each other again?”  
  
Snape stopped, resisting the urge to turn around and slap him. Instead, he just said, “Would you grow up, already, Potter?” and he walked out.  
  
“I didn’t mean it like that…” Harry started, but Snape was already gone.


End file.
